


Pink Peonies Always Remind Me of You

by hirohamadugh



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (briefly) - Freeform, Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Archangel Crowley, Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale and Crowley Met Before The Fall (Good Omens), Cherub Aziraphale (Good Omens), Gen, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), He/Him pronouns for both later on, No Sex, No Smut, Nonbinary Aziraphale (Good Omens), Not Beta Read, Other, Pre-Canon, Pre-Fall, Soft and tender, They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), They/Them pronouns for Aziraphale, aka my take on angel rankings, but lowercase a, not a main plot point but will always be in my fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 01:30:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20574239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hirohamadugh/pseuds/hirohamadugh
Summary: Aziraphale was chosen to create the flowers for Eden. But a restriction of color palette was enough to drive any angel crazy- even crazy enough to steal colors from the stars.





	Pink Peonies Always Remind Me of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Newts_Loki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newts_Loki/gifts).

“Her intended Creation is to be started at once,” the Seraph had bellowed out to the halls packed to the brim with the lower 8 choirs, immediately seizing every so-dearly-obedient-celestial beings at once. _Arch-angel_, Aziraphale had mentally reprimanded themself at the time, recalling that the highest order of Her angels had decided they very much liked the name given to the 8th choir more than their own, and had therefore stolen it. Not of course, that Aziraphale would ever put it so brashly as that, and question those most divinely close to Her. Never would they dare.

“We Arch-angels have been assigned the honor of assistance through delegation. Thus, the Creation will proceed, as She intended, as follows:”

Aziraphale had straightened their back, knowing that as a Cherub, they resided directly below the Sera-_Arch-angels_, and would therefore most likely have eyes upon them from some of the lower choirs when called upon. “Cherubim,” the Arch-angel sure enough addressed first, “You will be in charge of the Garden.”

Murmurs buzzed throughout the hall as angels of every type discussed with their neighbors what their thoughts were on the topic, and Aziraphale felt a hand flutter across their arm from one of their few Cherubim siblings they’d been sitting with. “The Garden,” the quiet, excited voice whispered into Aziraphale’s ear from their sibling, “oh, it will be most wonderful!”

“Silence!” The Arch-angel commanded, cascading the hall into a lack of noise once more. “Cherubim, you are dismissed. Netzach, you may decide upon responsibilities within your choir as you see fit.” With a wave of their hand, the Arch-angel turned all attention away from the leaving choir, and Aziraphale could hear them continue as they exited. “Thrones, you are to create the terrestrial biomes outside of the Cherubim’s work…”

The doors to the Grand Hall closed behind Aziraphale and their siblings, before disappearing all together. Physical space was not exactly a construct that had required abiding by within the vast expanses of Heaven, so the Cherubim were alone together immediately.

“Brothers, Sisters, Siblings,” Netzach addressed, his voice much quieter than the Arch-angel’s had been, but equally as demanding of focus. He was the oldest of the Cherubim, the first created by Her within their choir, and therefore the one who delved all commands as needed. Aziraphale found themself falling into a horizontal line with their 8 other siblings, just to the left of the sibling who’d grabbed them endearingly earlier.

“I will create The Tree, of course, as well as all other trees within Eden.” Netzach nearly floated to the beginning of the line, assigning roles to each and every Cherub. “Ophaniel, you will create the soil, the ground upon which everything will grow. You will create multiple textures for multiple areas, and make the grasses that grow within them. Hanael, you will make the small mammals. Ger’ii, you will manifest the reptiles, and assist Eleleth in the creation of fish, if need be. Jurae, you will create the bushes and stalks that will carry sustenance for the humans, once they arrive. Bez’ae,” Aziraphale couldn’t help but begin to get nervous, as they would be next. “You will create the insects.” Aziraphale could feel their sibling reach out and squeeze their hand in excitement, and they couldn’t help but let the jitters wash over them in a quite mortal way as they had let them go and faced Netzach with poise for their assignment. “Aziraphale, you will be assigned to flower duty. You may add your creations to others’ plants as you see fit, however only with their approval.”

It was this series of events, all but a few days prior (days, of course, being a new concept for everybody once the Arch-angels had created day and night) that put Aziraphale into their current predicament. It was certainly not that they disliked creating flowers, no- the blossoms were finally beginning to shape up into what they’d envisioned them being: finally nearing a level of beauty that reflected Her’s. In fact, Aziraphale had even gotten to collaborate with some of their siblings, having sat with Ophaniel to discuss root systems and Bez’ae to create pollen for their new _pollinators_\- the bugs would get food, and Aziraphale’s flowers would get spread. A win-win.

That said, creating flower after flower after flower can only be interesting for so long, and despite their angelic patience, Aziraphale found themselves looking for something to spice it up.

They dipped their celestial paintbrush into the golden yellow pigment once more, sighing as they delicately painted it onto the long pointy petals of their latest creation. They’d been doing everything they could to add _some_ sort of variety just to keep it interesting, this current creation being one of them. A _sunflower_, they’d decided it would be called, and this one was the largest they’d created yet, with a giant brown disk in the middle replacing the dainty stamens most of their other creations possessed. Aziraphale dipped their paintbrush once more into the golden color and completed the radial design, allowing the flower to fall into their lap as they admired the work. It was stunning, of course, as She deserved no less, but Aziraphale still found themself wishing for more.

They placed it delicately among the others, before manifesting a new blossom to paint from thin air; its fat and round petals curled in on itself as it fell into their hands, so numerous and vast that they nearly looked like they were about to burst. Aziraphale skimmed their thumb along its soft exterior longingly, their lips pursed as they spoke to no one in particular. “Peony,” they recalled, knitting their eyebrows at the familiar creation. Aziraphale had yet to create a double of anything. Everything they’d made was new and different from the last, and oh they didn’t know if they could take it any longer if now they were expected to make _copies._

Aziraphale enveloped their hands around the flower, allowing their paintbrush to clatter back to the palette beside them. It splattered the few pigments they’d been allotted- indigo, yellow, and scarlet. They’d gotten as crafty as they could with patterns and designs, even tried _mixing_ the pigments once to create new ones, but they were immiscible. If they’d been allowed to have more colors, Aziraphale supposed, they would have been given them.

Still they yearned for more. It had been 4 days since the visible light spectrum was created, over 90 painstakingly long hours of prisms _existing_ and Aziraphale not being able to capture them to their full extent and beauty into their creations. Of having to watch the Light reflect into a wild array of colors and spectra, and then pick up the next petal and paint it the same of three hues they’d been given.

The Cherub leaned back a little, tilting their head upwards and allowing their eyes to shut for just a moment in reverie. When they opened them once more after just a few seconds, they could’ve sworn they’d just invented dreaming. Colors, colors of all types and shades and lightness and darkness swam in brilliant swirls before their eyes, taunting and just as beautiful as they’d imagined. For the briefest of moments, they found themselves almost envious of the archangels-lowercase a, the original choir- as they’d been the group selected to mold the universe. Aziraphale knew it was supposed to be almost a punishment: their low ranking deemed them only allowed to help Create the things that would almost never be seen, as far away from the proximity of the Garden while still doing _something_ useful. But as they watched two of them, careen across the sky laughing, sloshing their multitude of pigments across each others’ robes playfully, Aziraphale found dissent in their high rank. Always expected to do everything, always watched like a hawk by the lower choirs like they were something worth looking up to, always on display, a _Guardian of The Gate_. For just a moment, they wished they could live like that, unafraid of demotion and just sent out into the galaxy, told to go crazy and create whatever they so pleased.

Aziraphale was enraptured in observing them, but then their attention was reappointed to a new glaring fact: one of the starshapers’s palettes was tipping over the edge of a rounded star, threatening to spill and ruin the mottled nebula they’d so breathtakingly created beneath it. Without even thinking, Aziraphale dropped the peony to the cloud beneath their feet, wings unfurled and taking off at a breakneck pace, the Cherub hurling themselves up into the dark expanse of stars. They caught the palette that the starshapers hadn’t even realized they’d almost tipped over, and breathed a long sigh of relief they hadn’t realized they’d been holding in. Hugging the pigments close to their chest, Aziraphale allowed themself to gaze around; the galaxies were even _more_ vibrant up close like this. Colors Aziraphale hadn’t even allowed themself to _dream_ of weaved their way in milky bands around balls of light that glowed so warm and bright that they almost couldn’t feel the cold vaccumming expanse: the archangels had taken nothing and made it into _this_. All Aziraphale had done was make a few perennials that would die within a few days if taken from the ground.

“Excuse me!” Aziraphale called out, clutching the pigments in one hand tenderly as they waved the other in attempt to get the now-wrestling archangels’ attention. There were 4 of them now, all laughing and enjoying themselves in their own little world out here, not a single hint any had heard Aziraphale. The Cherub allowed their eyes to wander back down to the beautiful colors within their own fingertips and wondered if they’d even be missed, if just for a moment… they could return them before it was even noticed they were gone…

Tucking their wings around them, Aziraphale dipped back down to their sphere of workspace, nearly crashing into the cloud as they tumbled back into their crossed-legs sitting position. They carefully opened their closed hands to reveal the sphere of pure pigment they’d _borrowed_, _not stolen_, with a wicked smile upon seeing it had made the journey down here safe. Aziraphale scooped up their paintbrush once more and dipped into the baby pink right out of their own palm, so ginger and breathless in their movements as they brought the ink-coated bristles to one of the outermost petals. Just as the tiniest hair made contact with the silky flower, it was blown out of Aziraphale’s lap with an exceedingly loud **_THUD_** and gust of wind, produced by the flapping of another’s fluttering white feathers. The Cherub yelped instinctively, scrambling backwards and cradling the ball of pink close to their chest as the figure rose to their feet from the crash, brushing off non-existent soot from their color-stained robes. They crossed their arms across their chest and huffed, and it was then that Aziraphale was able to gather an actual good look at them, beyond the initial panic. They were thin; their dirtied robes swallowed their figure in all the places it hugged Aziraphale’s. They had relatively sharp facial features, softened only by the golden freckles littering their cheeks and nose, glowing with what Aziraphale could’ve only assumed were constellations they’d created. Their hair was long and copper colored- another pigment Aziraphale had yet to be allowed access to- and was messily tucked into a braid that tumbled down their left shoulder, some strands even bold enough to fall into their face after the rough landing. And that, Aziraphale deemed, was nearly a _sin_, because those spindles of scarlet threatened to conceal the other angel’s _eyes_.

They were irises unlike any other Aziraphale had ever seen before. They were dark, nearly black even, and if that was all it was, they’d be quite unsettling. But this angel’s eyes held _galaxies_ worth of airbrushed colors within them. Blues and purples mingled with greens and reds dotted with splotches of bright pale yellows and oranges, almost white. Perfect for a starshaper like themself.

The archangel stretched their two measly wings as far as they could, clearly trying to compensate for the lack of second pair that Aziraphale possessed. “I believe you have something of mine, Cherubim,” they scathed, and if Aziraphale were fully in the moment, they would’ve been able to hear the gasps from the thin angel’s siblings as they hadn’t been bold enough to challenge the _Cherub_ over a tiny missing paint.

Aziraphale’s cheeks flushed, a shade of pink so vibrant they almost wondered if the pigment they’d taken seeped its way into their skin and made itself at home there. “I-I’m so sorry!” They blundered, frantically hurrying to their feet and shoving the ball into the archangel’s chest, the first ever tears pricking at the edges of their eyes as they stared up into the vast expanses of stars within the other’s. “I-I didn’t think you would even notice, you were all having so much fun I didn’t want to interrupt, it was going to spill and ruin your nebula so I-I just went up and grabbed it and I didn’t mean to steal it oh please don’t be cross with me or tell the Almighty!!!” The taller angel stared at them with surprise etched into their face, hands unfolded and palms out defensively before Aziraphale took them in their own and tucked the pink ball back where it belonged: between the lanky fingers. They were silent for a moment, an unreadable expression crossing their face as the Cherub descended further and further into panic, But then, the most magical thing happened.

They smiled.

The starshaper cast a toothy grin the few centimeters down at the Cherub, compacting the pigment ball into a droplet small enough to fit between their thumb and forefinger, before hanging it around their neck as if from an invisible necklace. “I won’t tell your secret, four-face.” It was a bold comment to make at an angel of such higher rank directly to their face, but Aziraphale didn’t mind. It showed them a slice of humanity in the archangel, one no other angel had shown thus far (and certainly not from their own siblings! The other Cherubim, making jokes? Blasphemous!).

“Aziraphale,” they corrected with a small sigh of relief, relaxing their wings from the tensed state and allowing the bottom two to drag along the cloud gently. “My name is Aziraphale.”

The archangel tucked their bright hair behind their ear, but didn’t offer their name in return, instead pointing to the toppled-over floret Azirapahle had lost in the chaos. “Are you making those?”

“Oh!” Aziraphale scooped up the flower lovingly, cupping it in their hands and holding it out to the redhead. “This is my role in creation! I call this one a Peony, I’m the angel of flowers for now!” They deposited the fat blossom into the starshaper’s palms, practically forcing them to catch it unexpectedly and bite their lip as they held it like the most precarious thing in the world. Aziraphale wiggled their fingers and manifested more of their creations to appear in a beautiful bouquet, their stems entwining in the air as they wrapped around in a circular halo that spun before settling onto the archangel’s head. They reached up and touched the blooms in disbelief, bewilderment ridden across their features. “Take them,” Aziraphale insisted, placing their hand across the other’s forearm, ripping their attention back down to their face. “As a thank you for keeping my, er, _secret_, as you worded it.”

“They’re beautiful,” was all they could breathe out in reply, star-ridden eyes clouding over in awe before transferring the peony to one hand, plucking the pink pigment out of the air in front of their chest and blowing on it softly. The paint scattered, appearing dusty now as it diffused through the air slowly and settled onto the flower’s petals, causing the starshaper to smile and offer it back. “A gift for you in return,” they passed the flower into Aziraphale’s plump hands, ghosting fingers atop each other in the transfer. “Now, when the first pink peony blooms in the garden, everyone will think it is a miracle.”

Aziraphale opened their mouth to stammer out a reply, but the beautiful angel was gone. Spiraling up into the stars, they could see them, returning to roughhouse with their brethren, but never _too_ rough where they would risk losing their new flower crown. “A miracle,” Aziraphale repeated quietly, hugging the flower close to themself in a protective manner. “It will be a miracle.”

* * *

Crowley kicked his snakeskin boots up onto his angel’s lap, effectively shutting the book that had been open there in a display of dominance over the text for Aziraphale’s affection. “Annnngellllllll,” he whined needily, scrunching his nose and pouting like a child until the blond complied, placing his reading glasses on the side table and finally focusing on the serpent. “Ugh,” Crowley lamented, sending his own shades skittering across the floor of their shared living room. Ever since Armageddon had been stopped, the two had decided to stop dancing around elephants in the room and arranging lavish excuses to see one another and just moved into a cottage together, to be with the only other being who_ understood_. This, however, caused some snarky back-and-forth for a bit, as they had clashing tastes in living arrangements, but the longer they went on, the less the tension arose. But that certainly didn’t mean it was any less fuel for a good jest here and there.

“It’s so _stuffy _in here, Angel,” Crowley complained, sweeping his arm out across the room in a show of theatrics gesturing vaguely to everything in Aziraphale’s reading nook. “You really need to spruce it up in here or something. Get something fresh, something from the last 3 centuries, for a start-”

“You know,” Aziraphale interrupted, in that primly-bitchy way that Crowley so dearly adored. He pushed the demon’s ankles off of his lap, forcing the man to sit up properly and face him. “I _have_ been thinking of adding some greenery to this corner… And, well, considering you’re the botany ‘_expert_’,” if Aziraphale had known what air quotes were, he would have done them here. “What are your suggestions on what I should get?”

The lanky demon smiled fondly; it was an exceedingly rare expression that Aziraphale had to sop up every ounce of each time he was given the opportunity to do so. It almost startled the angel, the change of pace from teasing to tender, but a very welcome one at that. Crowley’s voice was soft and raspy, almost _emotional_, when he spoke. “I always liked pink peonies best,” he breathed, barely any more than a whisper.

Aziraphale’s face lit up in recognition, but not _the_ recognition. Those who were Fallen were also Forgotten by those who stayed. “Oh!” the angel exclaimed excitedly, wiggling in his very Aziraphale manner and smoothing his khaki vest over his stomach. “My dear boy, I created those, you know!!”

Crowley smiled once again, reaching over and clasping one of Aziraphale’s hands within his own. “I know, Angel,” he squeezed the blond’s fingers in his own, reaching out with his true form through the physical contact and showing Aziraphale the memory, clear as day, from his point of view. When Crowley heard the angel gasp as he connected the dots, he couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, allowing the burden of the Knowledge of his life before to seep one, daring stray tear from the corner of his serpentine eye.

“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> please please PLEASE let me know if there was anywhere I misgendered crowley/aziraphale/beelzebub pre-fall, they should all have they/them pronouns! I'm fairly new to writing nb characters so am afraid i may have missed one or two! any other gendering, such as of the head cherub or after armageddon, is intentional. Thank you so much!!!


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